


Snowblind: Wrooom 2014

by gimmefire



Category: Formula 1 RPF, MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Debauchery, Flirting, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1571087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmefire/pseuds/gimmefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"You know what this place is like, don't you? What it's for, yeah? You wouldn't come here if you didn't, surely?"</i> </p><p>Wrooom, the annual Ferrari-Ducati PR event at the ski resort of Madonna di Campiglio, is not what you think it is. It isn't what Rob thinks it is, either. But two things are different this year: one, Rob is actually attending, and two, so is Cal Crutchlow. From the way Cal eyes up Felipe, Rob is going to learn what truly happens at Wrooom, whether he wants to or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU for several obvious reasons. Beta by [mackem](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mackem).

"I think maybe he likes me," Felipe opines, either unable or unwilling to hide his slightly smug smile. "In that way, you know?" He reclines, arm slung over the back of the empty chair beside him, stretched open and inviting as he inelegantly sips his champagne, dark eyes following Cal around the room. Rob has seen that look before, countless times; the difference being that it has usually been aimed at himself.

Rob follows Felipe's eyeline, watching Cal not-so-subtly look over other attendees as he mingles. _Like a dog at a butcher's shop,_ he thinks sourly.

"I think he likes everybody," Rob replies. His tone is light and he sips his champagne politely, but his eyes burn holes into the back of Cal's head.

Wrooom has...a reputation. Amongst drivers, riders, the press, everybody. It's like a pop-up Vegas, except much colder and without so much gambling. The similarities lie in the fact that the things that happen there, stay there. Rob has been invited to Wrooom before, and in recent years he has always declined, because Wrooom has a _reputation_ , and he was never sure how he'd react to the possibility of seeing that look in Felipe's eyes aimed at someone else. As it turns out, not particularly well.

This Cal bloke - Crutchlow, the new Ducati signing - had wandered over earlier, shaking Felipe's hand and introducing himself. He had a toothy grin and a twinkle in his eye, not to mention a tendency to check out the person he's talking to apparently without an ounce of shame. Rob had initially thought that Felipe was blissful in his ignorance, but it would seem that he simply didn't mind it at all.

Felipe cottons on to Rob's discomfort with reasonable speed, studying him for a few moments. "If is not okay, I stay here, you know?" he murmurs softly, passing his champagne glass to his other hand so he can loop his arm low around Rob's back. His thumb hooks into the waistband of his trousers. "Maybe we go to the hotel...?"

Rob snorts, relaxing as his attention is pulled from the interloper to his lover. "We've only been in here half an hour!"

Felipe shrugs with poorly feigned innocence and waggles his glass aloft. "Is the champagne! Maybe they put something 'special' in, no?"

"Hang on, you think..." Rob turns slightly in his chair, looking for some clarity. "You think that with Wrooom's bad reputation, with the fact that what people say goes on here, what dirty, drunken, fuckin'...debauched, extramarital, extrasexual--" here Felipe laughs bemusedly at the invented word-- "mind-opening stuff that they say goes on here, that isn't far from the truth at all, _you_ think that Philip Morris might spike everyone's drinks to absolutely make sure it happens?"

Felipe appears to think about it for a brief moment, then raises his eyebrows. "The press always want to be here, no?"

Rob shakes his head. "Maybe it's because you're just a lightweight..."

The corners of Felipe's eyes crinkle as he snuffs a laugh into his glass, steaming it up as he drinks.

Shortly after, Felipe is called away for an 'impromptu' photo session, the drivers and riders all casually chatting by one of the bars while flashbulbs go off around them. Rob does his best to keep his attention diverted, but he can't help but pick out the unique sound of Felipe's croaky laugh through all the hubbub and background music. Cal's making Felipe laugh. A lot.

Rob tells himself that this might not be so bad; after all, Ferrari and Ducati usually break off to do their own little PR events, then reunite for the closing ice kart race. He pulls out his phone to check the schedule for the following day.

_9:45am: Ducati-Ferrari ski event. Drivers, riders only. Press please contact..._

Brilliant.

 

"'Ey Matt, look what I found!"

Matt's attention is pulled from the ornate ice sculpture he's idly looking over by a gleeful call, and he's rather surprised to see that what Cal had found was a sprig of mistletoe attached to a headband with a bit of wire. Never mind the fact that this, the first night of Wrooom, is the first chance they've had to properly talk in person since the last season finished, so they should probably catch up first - Cal's found a _thing_.

"What have you been digging through to find that?"

"Found a box of decorations," Cal says, not elaborating further. Whether that meant he'd been in rooms he shouldn't have been in would remain a mystery.

"I'm wearing the mistletoe," Matt declares, swiping the headband from Cal's grasp before he can even protest, let alone engage him in a wrestling match for it.

Wrooom has a reputation, after all, but in all honesty whether Cal knows about it is probably irrelevant; he's almost certainly already scouted the room for possible targets. If Matt can distract Cal from thinking solely with his cock by at least pretending to look for his own targets, then so be it.

Cal snorts like he doesn't care that his treasure has been taken from him, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "It's not even Christmas anyway."

"Oh right, the rules only apply when you're not the one wearing it?" Matt says, carefully stretching the headband around his quiff.

"Whatever," Cal retorts petulantly, eyeing the older man as he shifts the mistletoe sprig into place. "I get first go."

"Go?!" Matt exclaims a bit too loudly. "I'm not a fucking horse!"

Cal isn't one to miss an opportunity when it presents itself. "Can I ride you anyway?"

Later, Matt will not remember what his response was. Maybe it was an equally snappy comeback, or maybe he just laughed and faintly blushed - the latter was much more likely, truthfully. What he'll remember is the way Cal's fingers wrap around his wrist and tug him into a darkened corner, partially concealed by a curtain, and the way Cal murmurs 'Merry Christmas' against his lips.

"Missed you," Matt murmurs.

"Mmhm," is the wordless response he receives, and Cal cups Matt's hand, bringing it to his crotch with that irrepressible smirk.

"Such a romantic, you," Matt says dryly. There's a flash of instinctive fear in his stomach at being in public, but it's dulled by the recollection of seeing a couple earlier doing just this in a less concealed area of the makeshift club. Matt has been to Wrooom a few times now and he's seen some things; some nights that got a bit...Caligula. It's almost expected of you as a journalist to let loose, to be someone else, to be and do whatever you want, to fuck whoever you want. And sometimes, just sometimes, the riders and drivers join in, and there's a collective mutual understanding that whatever happens never leaves the resort.

But this year is different. He's never had Cal here before.

Sure, he's fooled around in the past - by now he gets Wrooom and what it does to people, though it took him a few years - and there was one night many moons ago that he's never quite been able to piece together from hazy, alcohol-soaked memory that definitely involved a certain Kentuckian. But Cal is different. Cal is in his head and, more to the point, in his heart. And it's his first time at Wrooom, a first time for the man who might as well be the poster boy for its less publicised purpose. How long will Matt be able to stomach seeing him bounce from man to man like a rabbit in mating season? Matt doesn't know and he'd prefer not to think about it. At the moment, at least, it's irrelevant anyway.

He presses closer to Cal, rubbing his cock through his jeans, then delving inside for more. The noise of the party fades into insignificance because Cal is kissing him the way he does and he smells fucking great and Matt has _missed him_. He feels Cal growl into his mouth, feels the hand grip the back of his neck, feels Cal and the weight of him, the taste of him, the rhythm and heat of him. Cal's other hand is against his crotch, mirroring his actions. Matt shifts until his legs are spread over one of Cal's strong thighs, rocking against the thick muscle.

It's brief and traced with a little more urgency than Matt would like, but he's already being carried away by the sound of Cal's heavy breathing, so he's hardly in a position to complain. Distantly he hears himself groan loudly and feels Cal's body spasm, his strained grunt muffled against Matt's neck.

"Missed you too," Cal says, apropos of nothing, when his breathing has almost returned to a normal pace.

"Me," Matt enquires, slightly more out of breath than Cal, eyes drifting down to Cal's neck as he feels the urge to nuzzle at it, "or the odd handjob behind a curtain?"

"You."

Matt looks up to the haze of pleasure that clouds Cal's eyes. He's missed that, too. He snorts like he doesn't believe him, but he's smiling all the same. "Good."

Cal re-fastens his jeans and kisses Matt on the lips as he does so, soft and brief and entirely too sweet. "You coming to my room tonight?"

"That you asking me or telling me?"

Cal shrugs, gaze drifting away before his attention is caught by a photographer waving him over. He nods at them as he replies. "Oh, I just think I need a really good fucking, Matt."

Cal disappears off before Matt can even begin to process a response beyond incredulous laughter.

He's missed this, as well - the afterglow, the pleasant buzz with a flicker or two of giddiness; the promise of more, and soon. Maybe Cal would surprise him by not doing what was expected at Wrooom; he did enjoy defying expectations, so why not? Maybe he'd just spend his time away from PR activities trying to make up for lost time with Matt.

Well, a bloke can dream, can't he?

The rider has sauntered off for some casual shots - photographic, not alcoholic - with his teammate and the Ferrari duo, the four of them chatting away as though this wasn't orchestrated. Matt watches them from a distance. The man to Cal's right - Felipe Massa, a driver who's been at Ferrari so long, he feels like part of the furniture at Wrooom - laughs heartily, focus fully on Cal, while Cal himself grins and sparkles and attracts positive attention like he has his own gravitational field. He animatedly describes something, eyes wide and hands gesturing, and Felipe laughs again. Mid-conversation, one that the other two have drifted away from by now, Cal eyes Felipe up. And Felipe returns the silent compliment.

"Ah," Matt says to himself. Though it's a familiar feeling, the weight of disappointment still sits heavily in his stomach.

 

Felipe hears Cal before he sees him. He lets go of one of his ski poles to adjust his goggles so he can look for the source of all that swearing. It sounds like Rob, he thinks, but...different. A little way further down the slope, he finds Cal stuck in some deeper snow, slightly off-piste in between some trees. He's bent over and shouting at his skis.

" _Fucking things!_ "

"You are okay?" Felipe calls out as he slides elegantly to a stop a few metres further down, smiling broadly. Cal looks comically irate.

"This is just fucking unnatural, this! It doesn't even make sense to stick fucking long bits of wood to your feet so you can fly off down snow."

"I am Brazilian," Felipe chuckles, looking down at himself. "You think this was natural for me?" 

"You've got special skis," Cal says matter-of-factly. "They stop you falling over. They give me the shit skis to mess with the new guy."

"Ah, maybe, maybe, I cannot say!" Felipe laughs, holding up his hands. He carefully hikes his way back up towards Cal, removing his goggles and pushing his beanie hat up out of his eyes. "So you never ski before, no?"

"Is it that fucking obvious?" Cal retorts, pulling one leg free of the snow with so much cartoonish vigour he almost topples over backwards. Felipe grabs his sleeve as he flails his arms, laughing unsympathetically.

"Anyone ever told you you sound like a frog?" Cal remarks with a smirk. "When you laugh, you croak. You sound like a frog."

He's a little taken aback by the bluntness, admittedly, given that Cal has only known him for a day, but Felipe eventually takes it in his stride. He lifts his chin. "Maybe I leave you here, I go be the frog in another place...?" He lets go of Cal's sleeve and moves as if to go, but Cal grabs his wrist before he's out of reach. He only does it to help himself free his other leg of snow, but that doesn't stop Felipe's heart from doing a small leap of its own accord.

"Yeah, take my fucking skis with you," Cal snaps. "I'll be quicker crawling!"

Felipe laughs softly; he catches himself staring at the hand still around his wrist and looks down at his feet, adjusting his ski poles. "You know, I don't think my...Rob likes you so much," he says with a slight hesitation, feeling colour rise in his cheeks. My Rob wasn't exactly what he'd intended to say, but he guesses it's fairly accurate.

"Him from last night? With the beard?" Cal asks. When Felipe nods, he chooses that moment, consciously or not, to let go of Felipe's wrist. After a pause he mischievously adds, "Do you think I could take him in a fight?"

Felipe laughs a little nervously, eyebrows lifting sky high, and shrugs in diplomatic silence.

"Does he not like me talking to you?" Cal persists, and Felipe shrugs again, more dismissively this time.

"If this only is his problem, then is _his_ problem, you know?" he explains, not particularly clearly. "I think is not the talking, is uh..." as though to demonstrate, Felipe looks Cal up and down. "You know..."

Cal's eyes light up, his smile widening fractionally as though he's seen how to get Felipe hooked. He leans a little closer and murmurs, "But do _you_ like it?"

Felipe doesn't answer at first, caught as he is in Cal's penetrating gaze. He is breathing a little faster, though... "Is easy to like bad things, no?"

"Who says I'm bad, eh?" Cal damn near purrs with a waggle of his eyebrows, his smile having broadened into a grin.

Felipe thinks they might be able to power the ski lift from the crackle in the air between them. It takes quite a lot of willpower, then, for him to chuckle bashfully and move away.

He shuffles his way back onto the piste and pulls his goggles back down over his eyes, looking back when Cal calls out, imploring. "You not gonna stay and teach me a few things...?"

"Later, maybe!" Felipe replies archly. He has to bite back his silly grin for the remainder of the session, because the roguish wink Cal shot him before he departed won't disappear from his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

That evening, Felipe is just tucking the fluffiest of luxurious white towels around his waist when he hears the swipe of a keycard in his hotel room door. "You decent?" comes the familiar voice.

"Ah, I am not so bad," Felipe says as Rob enters, looking down at his freshly showered self with a smile.

"How'd it go today?"

"Good, you know. Is maybe going to be a storm soon, so I think is why they have the skiing together this time."

"You talk to the bikers much?" Rob asks as he shoulders off his coat and settles against the wall, rubbing his chilly hands together and doing a pretty fucking shitty job of sounding nonchalant.

Felipe shrugs, doing a similarly poor job. "I talk to Cal. His skiing is so bad, is like yours. Is worse!"

Rob tries to respond beyond his thin smile. "Right, that's not easy." The attempt at humour sounds forced, and he feels a pang of guilt as Felipe's brightness visibly fades.

"We only talk," the Brazilian says quietly.

"I-I know, I'm being daft." Rob looks down at his feet, trying to chase away the anxiety. He was supposed to be treating this as a holiday - a bit of a busman's one, admittedly - but here he was wringing his hands over a flirtatious biker...

Felipe sucks on his bottom lip, remaining silent until Rob lifts his eyes again. "You would have a big problem if was more than this, no?"

"Well, would _you_ be alright with it if I went off with someone else?"

"Is difficult to say," Felipe replies, running his hand absently through his wet hair and making the question sound as bland as something from a Thursday press conference. He does appear to actually consider it, though, and Rob can't help but feel a little surprised at his eventual answer. "Maybe depends on who. Would you go with Cal?"

"You must be fucking joking," Rob snorts at the very idea. "I can't see myself going with anyone, to be honest."

Here Felipe looks at him, _really_ looks at him, like he's trying to read the thoughts at the very back of Rob's mind. It makes Rob feel uncomfortable, almost to the point of saying so, but then Felipe shakes his head slightly. He actually looks quite concerned. "I don't think you understand this place, _gatão_."

It sounds like a fairly patronising statement, but Felipe doesn't call him _gatão_ very often and he quite likes it, so he lets it lie. "I have been on skiing holidays before, y'know."

"To Val Gardena," Felipe points out, concentration diverted a little by the towel around his waist beginning to slip. He goes about tightening it as he continues. "Not to here. Is different, I don't know how to explain." He thinks about it for a moment, his brow furrowing. "Maybe is like Monza. Other places to race, other places are good, but Monza is _different_ , you know?"

Rob gives him a look of such skepticism, he doesn't feel it necessary to verbally respond. When Felipe finally looks up to see it, he looks disappointed and gently persists.

"I come to Wrooom many years now, Rob. I see men who are married with other women, with other men, people who don't ever look to other people when they are on the outside - but here is different. You say you don't go with anybody else, but you don't know. Maybe would be difficult for me to see you with somebody else, but I know this place, I know things happen. Is understood here, you know?"

"You don't have to talk to me like I'm an idiot," Rob murmurs, resentment swelling in his chest. Like he doesn't know his own mind...

Felipe sighs softly. "I don't mean for this, I only try to be clear for you." He sounds almost apologetic. "Is better we don't talk about this anymore."

Silence settles over the room - at least until Felipe briefly fires up the room's hairdryer for a token effort at drying his hair - and Rob wishes all these thoughts and doubts hadn't been stirred up; Felipe had been rather surprised when he'd shown interest in coming to Wrooom this year after avoiding it for so long, and now he was starting to wish he'd been dissuaded.

The loud whoosh of the hairdryer dies away, and Rob looks up to see Felipe pressing his lips together, in what looks distinctly like an attempt to keep a mischievous smile at bay. It doesn't really work.

"What's funny?"

Felipe shrugs as he approaches him. "I think maybe I would not mind you and Cal, you know?" he says with a raised eyebrow. He reaches up to cup his lover's face, stroking a thumb across his cheekbone. "Blue and blue…"

Rob wrinkles his nose in apparent disgust, but colour stains his cheeks all the same. Helpful images flash through his head, not focussed on himself or Cal; on Felipe watching from the shadows, wetted lips parted as he breathes quicker, hand buried in his open jeans, eyes fixed on him, on _them_...

"You're a twat, you are," he declares, in an attempt to deflect attention from his deepening blush. "I don't know why I put up with you."

"Maybe is my body?" With that same mischievous smile, Felipe puts a hand to his towel, already slipping again, and encourages it to slip just a little lower. Rob's response comes in a gruff whisper when Felipe presses against him.

"...It helps."

His mouth is busy almost before the words have fully emerged, kissing a trail down Felipe's neck, skin still hot from his shower. He kisses away droplets of water still glistening on his muscular shoulder, feeling Felipe's fingers tangle in his hair. His heart lifts when a soft, sleepy moan reaches his ears.

Felipe smells clean, none of the usual traces of sweat or deodorant on him, but still familiar; he sticks to the same shower gel as he travels around the world. It's his favourite, and, by extension, by sensory memory, it has become Rob's favourite as well.

"Will you stay here tonight?" Felipe mumbles, thumb stroking the back of Rob's neck.

"If you want," Rob replies, words muffled against his collarbone. Even with Felipe here, his slight, strong form against him, welcoming the attention of mouth and hands, of warmth and pleasure, he cannot make his mind be still. He thinks about bringing something up even though he knows it's inadvisable. By the time he's finished thinking and decided he isn't going to say it, he finds he's already saying it. And he's only half joking. "Cal won't be joining us, will he?"

"No," Felipe replies simply and immediately. Rob senses that might be the end of the conversation, because he feels his hair being tugged, and when he lifts his head he's being kissed with mesmerising intensity.

Felipe leads him to the bed and pulls him down over him as he reclines, his kisses sweet and gentle, at once appeasing and compelling; he lets out a soft whine when Rob's hands, still a little cool from his journey between hotel blocks, splay over his bare stomach. Rob feels the wet flick of Felipe's tongue at his bottom lip, asking, wanting. Instead of complying, he breaks away to kiss a meaningless pattern down his chest, still uncomfortable, still not _there_. Felipe makes a frustrated sound, and he stops. He stays where he is, suspended, the scent and the warmth of Felipe's skin suddenly taking hold of him. He wants to nuzzle this skin, bury himself in these most primal elements of his lover, take what Cal can't have--

"Rob."

He lifts his head, blinking to snap himself out of it, to find that Felipe's giving him a look again. His voice is quiet but firm. "If you don't want me to be with him, I won't." He holds Rob's gaze. "But I want you to say for sure."

An unpleasant, almost queasy sensation ripples through Rob, Felipe's bluntness catching him off guard. He absently twists the corner of Felipe's towel around his fingers. "I don't _want_ you to go off with another bloke, no." _Especially him_ , a dark little voice adds inwardly.

"Then I won't."

"...But if I said yes, you would?"

Felipe nods. "But only for now, you know? Only here in this place. Only for one moment. With you, is always." he lifts his hand to cup Rob's stubbled jaw once again. "Always."

That, admittedly, ignites a warmth in Rob's chest that won't be tamped down by his unease. "Quite good at that sweet talking, aren't you?" he murmurs, avoiding Felipe's lips when they lift for a kiss and grazing one against his jawbone instead. He looks down Felipe's body, at all that bare, damp skin laid out for him, and feels pleasure swoop in his gut as he pulls that soft white towel down inch by inch. Then, with one sharp tug, Felipe is naked beneath him. Naked and visibly aroused.

He smiles, and for the first time in a little while, it reaches his eyes. "I feel bad, you've only just showered."

"You make me dirty again," Felipe purrs. "Then we shower…" Sliding a hand around the back of Rob's head, he pulls his lover in for a kiss he won't let him stray from.

Cal isn't mentioned again that night.

 

Rob wakes to the sound of Felipe quietly pottering around the room, presumably getting ready for his day's PR activities. He keeps his eyes closed and just listens. His pretence is only broken when Felipe knocks over the plastic cup in the bathroom, making it clatter into the sink. " _Ai!_ "

Rob grins to himself and scrubs a hand through his hair, stretching until his shoulder clicks. "Not like you to be up before me," he mumbles, voice rough with sleep.

"Is not a holiday, I have to work!" Felipe calls out with a grin.

"Oh yeah, real backbreaking labour, all that..."

The remark earns him a mock-scornful look as Felipe re-enters the bedroom. He shifts onto his back and tucks one hand behind his head, silently watching the Brazilian get ready. Something simmers at the back of his mind.

The previous night, he watched Felipe sleep. Not for long, but long enough to clear up a few things in his mind. The Brazilian slept as soundly as he ever did, as though he didn't have an amorous rider he'd only just met making very clear overtures towards him and a boyfriend with his nose put firmly out of joint by the whole thing; it seemed all so black and white to him, such calm conviction radiating from him during their discussion earlier that it, if anything, unsettled Rob even more.

So maybe he just needs to...relax? Open his mind? Or maybe it's just not for him, all that sort of thing. Maybe he just needs to do his best to trust Felipe. _Only in this place. Only for one moment._

Rob starts speaking before he has time to talk himself out of it.

"Last night. The thing we talked about. You can if you want."

Felipe looks up from one of his many untidy piles of clothes and stares at him blankly. Rob clears his throat.

"Cal."

It all clicks into place and Felipe's eyebrows shoot up, stopping what he's doing altogether. "You are sure?" He looks at Rob carefully - almost suspiciously - and speaks again without waiting for an answer. "Why you change?"

"I dunno. To both questions," Rob replies with a weak chuckle. "I was just...thinking. Above everything else, I trust you. I do. So I should trust your judgement as well."

Felipe's surprised expression softens as Rob finishes what he has to say, willing away the small swell of trepidation that's making his chest feel tight. "And of course I believe what you said. Always."

The Brazilian sets down the two odd socks he'd been holding and approaches. Rob reaches out, and the younger man takes his hand in his own, their fingers intertwining.

"You know, maybe nothing will happen," he says gently, appeasingly, with a small shrug. He sits on the bed beside Rob. "Is not for sure. But is important to me that you say 'okay'. Is _the most_ important." He bends for a brief, grateful kiss. "You know, maybe you can also--"

Rob scoffs by way of interruption. "If you want to set me up with someone while you're off doing...whatever, be my guest, mate."

Felipe's grip on his hand tightens fractionally - reflexively, perhaps, _because it's not so easy, is it?_ \- and he shakes his head with a soft smile. "I tell you, I am working, you do your...your _shopping_!"

It's not long after this that Felipe realise he's going to be late, so after taking a moment to profanely blame Rob - much to the older man's amusement - he's fully dressed and out the door and Rob is left alone with nothing but silence and his thoughts. He stretches again to make his other shoulder click.

Like Felipe said, maybe nothing will happen. They might not even bump into each other for the rest of the weekend. Or maybe Cal will seduce Felipe, tempt him away from the crowds, into solitude amongst silent trees and untouched snow, some secluded corner of the resort, get his breath sobbing out of him in little steam clouds, his fingers scrabbling for grip against rough bark leaving telltale marks and scrapes on his skin, exposed flesh chilled in the sub zero air, heat generated in friction and motion, urgent, desperate, pent up passion suddenly finding a release, _Oh Cal, Cal, please--_

Rob tries to scrub the thoughts from his mind and focus on where his first coffee of the day is coming from.


	3. Chapter 3

"Alright, Matthew," Cal greets him as he breezes into the chalet, dropping down onto the sofa beside Matt with enough vigorous enthusiasm to almost spill his coffee all over his jeans.

"Alright," Matt replies dryly, holding his mug away from himself - and the expensive iPad in his lap - until the seismic force that is Cal Crutchlow settles into something like stillness. "How you enjoying it so far?"

"Yeah. That an important email?" Cal asks, his impoliteness rendered twofold by both virtually ignoring the question and reading what Matt was doing on his iPad.

"Sort of--" As Matt holds it up and angles it away from the prying rider, Cal swivels around in his seat, stretches out and flops back so his head lands squarely in Matt's lap, smiling winningly up at him.

Concentrating on staving off a threatening blush and ignoring the instinct to look around in case someone is watching - because Cal is resting his head in his lap like they're young lovers on a picnic or something - Matt sets down the iPad on the seat beside him. Not getting any work done now... "You want me to feed you grapes while you're there?"

"Yeah, actually," Cal replies immediately, full of insolence. "That's exactly what I want, Matt." He looks around as best he can from his position until he spots a chalet worker. " _Scusate_ ," he calls out in a semi-convincing accent before Matt can have any say in this. "Do you have any grapes?" Helpfully, Cal mimes what must be the shape of a bunch of grapes in his hands, then mimes eating them. To Matt's alarm, she nods.

"One moment, sir," she says, holding up a manicured finger, and disappears off towards the kitchen. Cal laughs at his own brilliance. Matt contemplates pouring coffee on him.

The bunch of grapes arrives, and Cal pats his chest. "Here, please. _Per favore_." He corrects himself quite earnestly, much to the chalet worker's amusement. Matt mumbles his own embarrassed gratitude - though he's not sure he is that grateful - and then Cal's looking up at him expectantly, hands folded across his stomach, and Matt is making even more of a conscious effort not to look up at anyone else in the room. Before Cal can say 'go on then' a bit too loudly, Matt twists a plump, deep red grape free from its stalk and holds it over Cal's mouth. The younger man bares his teeth in a wicked grin before he lifts his head and sucks the grape into his mouth with a wet pop.

"Thanks, Matt," he says as he chews it, a delighted sparkle in his eyes. Matt can feel the heat of his blush in his ears.

But...it's not so bad, really. It's more intimate an act than he'd ever like to perform in public, even here, but it's an intimate act with Cal, prone in his lap, wanting to be fed. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little bit turned on.

Cal takes the next grape with his teeth, his bristles tickling Matt's fingertips as he does so, teeth puncturing the taut skin and sinking through flesh as he bites it in two, in a way that does peculiar things to the pit of Matt's stomach. Cal holds his gaze with those intense blue eyes, like he's not interested in the grapes at all (which he isn't), he's just doing it to watch Matt squirm and blush and secretly enjoy it (which he is). Cal takes the third grape into his mouth along with Matt's thumb and forefinger, sucking lightly on them before he lets them go, and fuck, that's a hell of a sight. Matt thinks about giving Cal the next grape with it held between his own teeth, but decides against it when he realises he might not be able to bend like that with any quiet dignity.

"That Felipe's alright, isn't he?" Cal says suddenly with a mouthful of more than one grape, breaking Matt's reverie. "Maybe we can invite him in."

"In?" Matt frowns, slightly annoyed at the interruption. "In where?"

"I'd heard about this place," Cal murmurs, looking off into the distance with an almost cartoonishly wolfish grin, seemingly ignoring Matt's question. "Didn't believe what I heard, but I do now. It's fucking mad. Doing what you want with who you want."

Matt lifts an eyebrow, sipping at the remainder of his now tepid coffee. "Didn't think you needed an excuse..."

"What, for a threesome?"

Laughing despite himself at Cal's directness, Matt's stomach doing a somersault at the thought. He begins to think about being in the same room as Cal and another man, not just in the same room but _involved_ , and not just another man but a _Formula One driver_ , and then he stops thinking, because he gets stuck at 'Cal and another man' and it churns up too many troublesome things.

"Make a change to fuck a bloke smaller than me," Cal says with a cheeky wink, nudging him in the ribs. "Might be interesting." The heat in his eyes suggests he already knows he'd find it 'interesting'. He looks Matt right in the eye. "Maybe I wanna share you."

"Maybe I _don't_ wanna share _you_." It drops out of Matt's mouth before he really has a chance to consider it, or send it through a passive-aggressive filter or something. His scalp prickles in a flicker of self-consciousness, made worse by Cal's intense gaze, and belatedly adds, "Or be shared, actually."

There's a glint in Cal's eye that suggest he's _probably_ joking about the whole thing. "So boring, Matt."

He shifts, making himself more comfortable, and closes his eyes.

Matt exhales in something close to a relieved, weary sigh. His hand hovers over the bunch of grapes - maybe he'll shove one up Cal's nostril, just because - but then it moves to settle on top of Cal's hands. He does this, while sat in the middle of a public area, knowing there'll be no revealing photos splashed all over the internet tomorrow; Wrooom is an open secret in motorsport circles anyway, but where's the sense in incriminating others when it'd blow everyone's cover? In fact, the main variable in all this is Cal, but at that moment said variable is literally in his lap, dozing like a smug cat.

...Cats in laps usually quite like to be stroked, don't they?

He brings his other hand to Cal's head and, tentatively, threads his fingers through the shock of brown hair. Cal doesn't react, so he continues; gently twisting curls around his fingers, stroking, caressing. He watches Cal's relaxed expression and the soothing motion of his own hand until he begins to feel a bit sleepy himself, letting his head rock to one side and watching Cal doze through half closed eyes. Everything else - the anxiety, the the self-consciousness - becomes dull and quiet, the chatter of other guests fading away into the distant background, because Cal moves his head, just _slightly_ nuzzling back against the hand in his hair. Matt smiles to himself, a deeply pleasant burn warming his chest. It's almost like, in here of all places, they might be a normal couple.

Then again, reverting to the cat analogy, Cal tends to fuck off as and when he likes.

Cracking open an eye to peer across the room at the group of Ducati folk who've just made a noisy entrance into the chalet, Cal suddenly sits up, catching the grapes as they fall from his chest, and swings his legs off the sofa. As he moves to stand, he tweaks Matt's knee painfully hard before Matt can swat him away. "See you later, Matt. Have some grapes!"

It's fortunate that Matt has finished his coffee, because he knocks his cup flying as his hands instinctively fly up to shield his face from the fruit-based assault. 

 

Coincidentally, Rob has not long entered the room; lunch is in an hour or so and he's in the mood for a beer from the bar beforehand. Thoughts of Cal and Felipe have been slowly spreading and encroaching upon his determination to be okay with it all, so he'll meet up with friends and chat for a bit. With Felipe away, Rob had banked on Cal being the same - keeping distance from both of them would help to settle his mind. And, hell, you never know - maybe he _would_ see someone he was interested in, and this mythical Wrooom atmosphere Felipe was so sure existed would work its magic...

Unfortunately, Cal is almost the very first person he lays eyes on when he gets there. His head is in some guy's lap - not in _that_ way, but Rob wouldn't put it past him - and there's a bunch of grapes on his chest, and he's reclining like a decadent emperor. Rob can't keep the sneer out of his thoughts. _Settled in here well, eh?_

Once Rob has sloped off to the bar and taken a resentful swig of the swiftly provided beer, he feels a niggling little desire in him to look around him, to see what Cal's up to now. He doesn't care, he tells himself, the guy can do what he likes, but the niggle only gets more and more persistent the harder he tries to ignore it. Finally he gives in, looking over his shoulder only to find that Cal has disappeared from the sofa and is now chatting up one of the group of noisy Italians that just walked in. _Not got much of an attention span, clearly._

Rob moves away from the bar to settle on the sofa where Cal had once been, because he can get a better view of his irritant that way - if Rob has weakened and looked at him, hell, he may as well keep looking at him, right? Cal's doing the same thing he did to Felipe on that first night, the _exact same fucking thing_ , looking this guy up and down, flashing that grin, all animated and flirtatious, playing up to the bad boy image. And it's clearly working.

It's at this point when he's bitterly gulping down his beer and sullenly glaring at a man who is all but oblivious to his existence that he realises that no, he's not okay with it. With Felipe and Cal. He's really not. But he's already said he is, and to take it back now would make Felipe think he wasn't, in fact, trusted. It's not about that - not really, anyway - it's about Cal and everything he seems to be, everything that Rob finds objectionable.

It's about the fact that Felipe...well, fuck, Felipe can do better.

But Cal quite clearly wants to fuck Felipe and Felipe certainly isn't averse to making that happen but Rob really, _really_ isn't okay with it and _fuck_. He makes it clear to himself to never again make an important decision while swathed in the post-coital, blissed out fog.

He tears his gaze away for the sake of his own sanity and looks across to the man sat on the sofa beside him; silver hair drawn up into a quiff, baby blue jumper and dark jeans, slightly pinched, rueful expression as he watches the same scene, idly picking at the bunch of grapes that Cal had abandoned. When Rob had walked in, Cal's head had been in his lap. Now Cal was chatting up some other bloke.

"Not shy, is he?" Rob grumbles, only half to himself. He looks across to the silver haired man again. "He yours?"

Matt raises his eyebrows and looks around, then back to Cal, whose hands are clearly cupping another man's arse as he playfully flirts with them. He looks down at his half finished grapes and gives a wry smile. "He's not anyone's, mate…" he sighs, holding out the bunch towards this bearded newcomer. "Grape?"


	4. Chapter 4

With another hard day's skiing and messing about on the slopes out of the way, Felipe's dangerously close to dozing peacefully off in one of the resort's Jacuzzis when the sound of feet smacking the wet floor drifts into his consciousness. 

"You want this place all to yourself?"

His eyes open languidly and he allows his head to rock to one side. Cal, in naught but swimming shorts and a smirk. Felipe shrugs and lifts his arms to rest them on the edge of the tub. Putting himself on display, maybe.

Cal pads over and slips into Felipe's Jacuzzi without invitation. As he settles on the seat directly opposite him, Felipe notices that the Englishman is freshly decorated with a sizeable, richly purple bruise along his forearm, and a small cut by his nose.

"You are okay?" Felipe asks, feeling his stomach drop an inch or two when he wonders if it might possibly have been Rob's doing.

"Yeah, I fell, out on the slope. It's only a bruise," Cal replies, angling his arm so he can see the purple splodge staining his skin. He points to the cut by his nose. "I landed funny and the fucking pole came up and hit me in the face."

Felipe hopes he doesn't look too relieved. "Thanks God for the goggles, was nearly the eye!"

"Yeah, fucking skiing. It's not worth it." Rubbing his hand through his hair, he catches Felipe still looking at his arm. He thumbs the scar tissue on the inside of his forearm. "This is old, this. I did it last year. Fell off the bike and--" He leans forward and mimes sliding along the tarmac. "Went through my leathers."

Felipe winces and shakes his head. "Is crazy, what you do!"

Cal scoffs. "You've never broken a bone or gotten any scars?"

"Ah, is only really here…" Felipe taps his temple.

Cal scoots around the tub to get a closer look, then seems to realise. "Oh right, yeah, sorry."

Felipe shrugs. "Is history."

Cal is still peering at his scar; Felipe is long past feeling uncomfortable about that sort of thing, but the proximity of the other man is setting off all sorts of other feelings within him. Ones that accelerate his heartrate, make his skin tingle, his stomach feel fluttery...

Cal lifts his hand out of the foaming water. "So it goes-- tell me to fuck off if you want…" his hand stops momentarily, halfway to Felipe's temple, and when the Brazilian says nothing beyond a snuffed laugh, he extends a finger and follows the course of Felipe's scar a fraction away from his skin. Just close enough to feel him. "Here...to here."

"It finish here, actually," Felipe murmurs, guiding Cal's still raised finger to the middle of his sideburn. "They have to cut more to take the bone and put the plate. Was a big mess!" He gives a wry smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and lets go of Cal's hand a second or three later than is perhaps appropriate. Cal maintains eye contact for too long, as well; it's true that his eyes are blue like Rob's, but Felipe realises that if Rob's hold warmth and fire, then Cal's hold electricity, the volatility of lightning bolts. They edge along the verge of intimidating. Felipe swallows, unconsciously sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, kicking his heels against the Jacuzzi wall while Cal sits close, too close, that electric gaze flicking over his body.

Tension making his muscles feel tight, Felipe shifts in his seat, nodding towards the double doors across the room. "Last year we went into the snow and ran everywhere, was completely crazy."

Cal follows his nod to the glass paned doors and the illuminated snow beyond, eyebrows raised. "Out there? What, like this?"

"For sure!" Felipe grins.

"...How long for?"

"I think some seconds, not so long."

Cal's eyes are still on the still scene outside, and he goes quiet for a few moments. Felipe's using the opportunity to take in the sight of Cal's chest, the gentle curve of his collarbones and dusting of hair, when Cal gives him a hard shoulder bump. "Fucking come on, then!"

He hauls himself out of the Jacuzzi and is already halfway across the room, padding in that embarrassingly awkward way you do when you don't want to go flying on a wet floor, before Felipe has done the same.

The moment he gets outside, Cal jumps, starfish shaped, to land face down in a fresh, pure white snowdrift. He does so with a small shriek in mid air as the freezing night air hits him, and Felipe would laugh, but he's outside as well and the initial hit of cold makes him gasp. Then he gasps again because Cal has hurriedly pushed himself to his feet and flung a big handful of snow at him. Felipe responds with a poorly packed snowball, one that explodes harmlessly off Cal's shoulder blade as he twists, mid-run. There's more snow flinging and running (frolicking, perhaps), much like last time, only with a slightly more concerted effort to nail one another with badly constructed snowballs. Felipe only wins the battle in the end by fighting dirty; they become tangled in a wrestling match while the Brazilian tries to stuff an armful of snow down the back of Cal's shorts. Cal wriggles free before it does much more than smear wetly down his back, hightailing it to the door with a stream of profanities.

"Why did you make me do that? That was fucking horrible!" Cal shouts as he flings himself into the large pool with a colossal splash. Felipe isn't far behind, and the two of them pop back up after a few seconds, shoulders hunched. Cal looks especially traumatised. "Fucking hell! I think my balls crawled back in!" he gasps, shivering. He submerges himself again and stays under there, hugging his arms. Felipe laughs breathlessly, wading backwards towards the shallow end until he bumps against the side, knees bent so his chilly shoulders barely break the surface, and watches the amorphous lump under the water as he slicks his hair back. He knew riders were a mad lot, but Cal seems to be quite something else.

Cal does eventually surface, bursting from the water with a huge, exaggerated intake of breath and saucer-wide eyes.

"You are okay?" Felipe asks when he settles, sounding more amused than concerned.

The horrified expression on Cal's face vanishes and he gives that roguish smirk from before. "Yeah, I was just trying to see up your shorts."

Felipe's eyebrows raise and he laughs his you-sound-like-a-frog laugh, so Cal returns the grin and ducks back under the water. Felipe watches the shape of him move closer, conscious that he's standing with his legs apart, and equally conscious that he's not going to close them any time soon.

Cal resurfaces right in front of him, swiping water from his face and ruffling the hair plastered to his head, making it stick up at all angles. Below the surface, Cal's hand seizes Felipe's attention when it comes to rest on his thigh, squeezing gently, thumb stroking the soft skin.

Felipe's eyes drop to the rippling water between them, briefly overwhelmed by the proximity of Cal and his electrifying touch. "You know," he begins shyly, "There are many guys - also girls - here who would like you, how you are. I know for sure many--"

"I'm interested in you," Cal interrupts, his gaze steady. Felipe's heart skips a beat. He doesn't immediately find the words to respond, and any hope of doing so evaporates as Cal's hand slides further up his thigh.

"Tell me to fuck off, if you want."

Felipe gives a near imperceptible shake of the head because Cal is between his legs and oh so damn close that he's almost squirming with desire. Cal shifts, his legs brushing Felipe's as he rises further out of the water.

Felipe pushes himself up, rising to eliminate the space between them, and Cal meets his mouth. The first kiss is cautious, gentle; the one that swiftly follows is not. Cal makes a sound like he's been wanting this for years and kisses like it's his last, passion and hunger in his rhythm, the bristles prickling Felipe's chin reminding him of Rob and reminding him that it _isn't_ Rob all at once. There's no trace of nicotine or booze in his taste, either, there's no addiction there; He moans, running his hands over muscular shoulders, feeling all the places he's strong, feeling an athlete. Not better. Different. So different.

"How do you like it?" Felipe pants, already itching with need. "The top or the bottom?"

"I like it lots of ways," Cal grins, a roughness to his voice that makes Felipe want to pull Cal into him, to squirm and moan and claw at his back. "I like it hard, I like it fast…"

"You just like it, no?" Felipe says, filthy smirk pulling at his lips.

Cal chuckles under his breath, tugging at the cords of Felipe's shorts. " _Yeah._ "

He wraps his hand around Felipe's swelling cock through the fabric, stroking it a few times before slipping lower, cupping his balls and gently massaging them, grinning at the way Felipe gasps and arches. His mouth closes over the skin of his throat, sucking, biting; Felipe grunts, short fingernails digging warningly into Cal's shoulder - _no, thank you, not for you to mark_ \- and he no longer feels Cal's teeth in his flesh, replaced instead by messily kissing lips.

"Doesn't he let you top him, then?" he mumbles against the skin beneath Felipe's ear.

Felipe doesn't reply, only smiling to himself. Instead, he pushes them both away from the wall of the pool, grasps Cal's ass in both hands with a hard squeeze, and adjusts his grip before pulling those big thighs up around his waist. Cal's cock presses into his stomach, hard and so promising, and just the feel of it like that has him swallowing a moan.

"Shame," Cal breathes, visibly pleased, the heat in his eyes turning up a notch. "I think he's missing out..."

That smile remains, mysterious and knowing, and Felipe laughs. "Thank you!"

He lifts his chin for Cal to take him in another hungry kiss, no demure behaviour to be found in him now, and turns them both around on the spot to push Cal back against the pool wall, shifting him lower in his grasp until he can feel Cal's hardness slide against his own cock. Cal releases a guttural moan into his mouth at that, bucking against him in wordless approval. Felipe's hands grope his ass, pulling the cheeks apart, desire roaring through him to just take him, to work this tight ass free of those shorts and fuck him right here, right now, in the pool...

"Maybe…" he pants, pausing because he has to bite his bottom lip as he grinds against Cal's prick, "Maybe more easy in the shower…"

"Mmm hmm," Cal responds gruffly, fingers digging into Felipe's back. "I was gonna suck you off in here, but I didn't wanna drown..."

Felipe laughs breathlessly, the laugh dissolving into another moan, his eyes flickering shut when Cal kisses him hard, tongue fucking into his mouth and sending _his_ desires ringing out loud and clear.

"...Mr. Crutchlow?"

And just like that, a woman's voice from across the room suddenly punches a hole through their private bubble.

"Busy at the moment," Cal calls out without even looking over Felipe's shoulder, only a fraction of his attention taken by this intruder. Well, perhaps slightly more than a fraction; he pulls back from the trail of kisses he's smearing along Felipe's jaw. "What's 'later' in Italian?"

Felipe blinks repeatedly, frowns. Cal is still rocking his hips, still panting, still addling his brain. "Ah...p-più tarde."

" _Piu tardy!_ "

The woman responds immediately, not about to be shooed away so easily. "You 'ave a sponsor event in ten minutes, the car is waiting."

"Ah, _fucking hell_ ," Cal snarls, his legs slipping from around Felipe's waist. 

"You...you are…" Felipe looks at Cal imploringly, dazed with desire, but Cal isn't looking. His eyes are on the chalet worker, a near glare etched on his face. Then his hands drop from around Felipe's back. Cal isn't-- Surely he isn't-- Not now-- "But… _ten minutes_ …"

"To be continued, yeah?" Cal mutters, eyes flicking distractedly back to the Brazilian. He swipes a thumb across Felipe's bottom lip and kisses it swiftly, muttering a curse to himself as he pulls himself out of the pool.

Felipe can't gather the words to express his utterly staggered, blue balls exasperation. He hears Cal ask the chalet worker how long the event had been in his schedule as they leave together. Surely Cal knew about his day's commitments? And, more importantly, when he'd have free time for...for…

He exhales in something akin to angry sigh and turns to sink back against the side of the pool, flicking at the surface of the water with his fingertips, frustrated, the buzz of arousal still echoing loudly through him like a nest of furious hornets. Briefly, very briefly, he thinks about going and calling Rob; he decides against it on realising a next-best-thing booty call probably wouldn't go down well in the circumstances. Felipe squirms, brushing a hand over the now unwelcome bulge in his shorts, and grumpily he hauls himself out of the water.

He stands with his palms flat against the tiles of the shower block wall as he rinses away the chlorine. His hard-on still hasn't gone away - because he can still feel the phantom sensation of Cal's thighs around his waist, the graze of stubble against his chin, the swipe of his tongue, can still imagine standing _right here_ fucking him hard and fast, _his_ palms against the tiles instead of his own - and his shorts aren't as voluminous and concealing as Cal's. His hand drifts down again, fingers curling around his prick through the wet, clinging fabric, and he groans.

Maybe he will call Rob.

Or maybe he'll have a fucking cold shower.

He takes his hand off his cock and sharply twists the temperature control of his shower unit; a beat later he leaps back out of the stream with a cry. " _Ai!_ "

Maybe not _that_ cold.


	5. Chapter 5

The sun has risen on the final day of Wrooom 2014. The traditional event closer - the Ferrari-Ducati ice kart race - is tonight, and Rob only has one more day to cope with the presence of Cal Crutchlow before they go their separate ways for another year. Maybe after the dust has settled on this year's event, he'll ask himself why he let himself get so ruffled so immediately by this man, but today will be dedicated to a morning massage and an early start on the beer. He won't get many more days like this to relax this year, and as Felipe said before, he's an awful skier, so a couple of days of terrible, bruising skiing is quite enough for him; why not take full advantage of the free bar instead?

He finds himself polishing off his first bottle of lager with some colleagues when someone at the bar catches his eye - Matt, the guy with the grapes from yesterday afternoon. Rob makes his excuses to his colleagues and wanders over. "Easy getting a round in when it's a free bar, eh?" he calls out.

Matt looks around. "My favourite kind of round!" he chuckles, turning back to the barman. "Sorry, can you make that one more lager? Thank you."

"Nice one."

Rob helps Matt carry his round over to his own colleagues - bike journos huddled around a table talking about football - and he's about to leave them all to it to return to his corner when Matt nods his head towards two empty stools back at the bar.

"Sometimes it's like the school disco, this," Matt observes as they take the seats. "Boys on one side, girls on the other, nobody talking."

"Nobody dancing, either," Rob points out, refraining from entering into the discussion regarding who was who.

Matt sits up in his seat, puffing out his chest with comedically false bravado. "Well, I dunno about you, but I can throw a few shapes..." 

"This you asking me to dance?"

"I don't think we're quite there yet, are we?"

Three bottles later and Rob has no plans to rejoin his work mates. He and Matt bounce off one another quite well; it's quite nice to chat to not just an Englishman but a fellow Northerner - he's no Teessider, but it's a refreshing palate cleanser from talking to Italians (and a Brazilian) who can't keep their fucking hands still.

There's a small lull in the conversation that Matt breaks with a subject they, perhaps surprisingly, hadn't yet broached.

"So how long have you and him been…" Matt trails off, giving a little nod of implication. "If you don't mind me asking."

"What, Felipe? Fucking hell," Rob muses, rubbing his bearded chin. He and Felipe are an open secret in motorsport circles anyway, so Matt's question doesn't phase him. "Getting on for eight years now. Most of it serious."

"Serious as in, you don't see other men?"

"Not interested in other men. S'just him." Rob can't fight the affectionate smile that breaks across his face. "It's always been him."

"Aw," Matt responds, then looks embarrassed, like the reaction had escaped without his permission. He snuffs a laugh and focusses on thumbing away beads of condensation on his bottle. "Sorry, yeah. Just...sounds nice."

And then they're back to Cal. The little nucleus of all their problems, Rob thinks resentfully. 

He swigs his beer and presses his lips together, a physical manifestation of the urge to bite his tongue, to not ask things like _what's so great about that prick_ and _why do you bother with that prick_ and _why is he such a prick_. He does try to keep his barbed thoughts to himself, he really does. But he doesn't try for very long.

"Why the fuck do you put up with that, eh?" he murmurs, looking Matt dead in the eye. "Or is it more casual than your face says?"

Matt winces; even he's not sure whether it's a conscious reaction or not. "'It's complicated' is a shit answer, isn't it?" Rob looks at him expectantly, so he takes a breath, looking down at the picked away label on his bottle. "It's me he comes back to. Every time, sooner or later, it's me. As long as that keeps happening…" Matt doesn't finish his sentence. He's not quite sure how to. Rob watches him, but he keeps his gaze averted.

"So you don't get jealous or anything?"

"Course I do," Matt replies quietly, tersely, and falls silent.

Rob is about to push for more, but then he takes in the faint crease between Matt's eyebrows, the way his eyes have clouded, and guilt washes over him. "Sorry," he says, apologetic enough to draw Matt's gaze. He sits back in his chair, rubs his palm across his frowning face. "None of my business, I don't even know you. I'm being a twat, sorry."

After a sigh, Matt offers a wan smile. "Look, they're valid questions, I just don't wanna hear them outside of my own head, y'know?"

A silence falls between them in which Rob considers how he'd deal with his feelings if Felipe was as promiscuous as Cal, and Matt wonders what it'd be like to have Cal for eight years.

It's not as though Rob doesn't think Felipe has it in him to be promiscuous; he's a globetrotting racing driver, and at the very least he surely would have felt the temptation to sleep around when he was young and hormonal. He's also affectionate in that Brazilian way, very physical, very expressive, very emotional. It's not a great stretch of the imagination to picture Felipe sauntering his way around a room to check out what was on offer, or switching on the heat in those dark chocolate eyes when he'd found someone to his liking. Rob doesn't think he'd cope with it as well as Matt appears to; maybe he wouldn't suffer in silence, or maybe he wouldn't try to stick it out at all. But then he thinks how easily he fell for Felipe in the first place, and he realises his heart might not give him the choice.

Eight years. If Matt were to simply count it from the first time they met, let alone the first time the had sex, it would still be four years away. Four more years of being there when Cal wanted him, and waiting when he didn't; it's a scary thought, one that Matt finds almost too much to comprehend. You're a fool if you enter a relationship with a person with the intention of changing them, but maybe things might be different by then; maybe even someone like Cal would like to settle down one day, and maybe Matt will be the person he wants to do it with. But until then, Matt will have that electricity, the inimitable grin, the devastating sexuality and occasional, heart melting affection of Cal, and he'll have it all to himself often enough to make it feel worthwhile.

"Wouldn't change him, though. Who he is."

Rob looks up at the sound of Matt's voice, eyebrows raised, before his expression softens. Felipe might not be book smart, and his feet reek, and maybe he's been a bit too blunt about his intentions with Cal, but...he's Felipe. Rob has had the pleasure of not just watching him but being with him as he matured and defined who he is while still remaining himself, the Felipe he had fallen in love with years ago. If he wasn't who he was, Rob might not have fallen for him in the first place.

And, in that, perhaps he and Matt find common ground.

He lifts his bottle and taps it against the rim of Matt's with a gentle _chnk_. "Nah. Me neither."

Matt swigs his beer and offers a lopsided smile. "Hey, if there's one positive you and me can take from this, it's that it's only once a year. Dunno if I could cope with this sort of 'active encouragement' more often than that."

Rob frowns a little. "Felipe said something like that as well. Said there was something in the air - or something they put in the air, maybe."

"Not far wrong, I don't think." Matt murmurs thoughtfully. "Have you not…?"

Rob shakes his head rather firmly. "Like I said, not interested in other men."

A wry smile pulls at Matt's lips. "Maybe you just haven't met the right bloke!"

"Maybe not!" Rob chuckles wearily. Then, from the shared look of mild alarm, they both seem to have the same thought at the same time: _oh God that almost sounded like a tepid chat up line._ Matt clears his throat self-consciously. Rob looks away across the crowd as though they're suddenly very interesting.

"They do encourage it," Matt ventures after a short while, keen to banish the awkwardness. "You know that, don't you?"

Rob gives him the same disbelieving look he gave Felipe a few nights ago. Matt gestures to the throng of people around them. "Come on, how else do you explain it, what people are like here, why people are so keen to come - no pun intended?"

"It's a nice place," Rob replies a little too defensively. It's starting to feel like he's the only skeptic at a conspiracy theorist's convention. He lifts his beer bottle and waggles it in the air demonstratively. "With a free bar."

"Well yeah, fair point, but it's more than just a free bar. What about that welcome pack, as well?"

"What welcome pack?"

"On your pillow when you first got into your room."

Rob is completely nonplussed. He frowns at Matt like there might be two little horns poking out through his quiff. "...I just had pillowcases, mate."

Matt frowns right back, but he doesn't get the chance to press the issue, because Rob's attention is diverted by the appearance of Felipe. The Brazilian slides a hand across Rob's shoulders as he rounds the back of the him, nodding politely at Matt. Rob introduces them, and they exchange a warm handshake.

"I see you here before, maybe?" Felipe asks, eyes narrowed in vague recognition.

"Maybe," Matt shrugs bashfully, trying not to think about what Cal had said about this man before. He doesn't succeed, so he struggles to look Felipe in the eye. _Make a change to fuck a bloke smaller than me…_ "I'm with the other lot. The bikes."

Felipe nods with a fraction more recognition than before, looking like he's trying to remember something. He doesn't appear to succeed.

"You're finished early," Rob observes, casting a glance at his watch.

"They stop the ski," Felipe says with a disappointed shrug. "The snowing is starting to be bad, is dangerous maybe. They talk that the kart race will maybe not happen if it stay like this."

Rob thinks he hides his relief quite well.

 

Some time later, Rob has slumped onto his bed, sprawling back like a mildly drunk starfish, and had a brief nap. He'd made his excuses and gotten out of the bar a short while after Felipe had arrived, starting to feel out of sorts and uncomfortable in his own skin. He lifts his hands to press his palms to his cheeks, and they feel warmer than usual. It might just be the booze, or maybe he's coming down with something; that'd really top the week off wouldn't it? Waste a holiday by feeling jealous and come away with the flu. Brilliant.

But it doesn't feel like illness - he feels hot, and antsy, and...like he needs to go for a long walk, or something? Like he needs to shake something intangible off him, to shed tension from his muscles. Maybe he will go for a walk, it might clear his head. Or, more likely, he'd freeze to death in a snowstorm. He swears under his breath at nothing in particular.

The position he's in triggers the memory of something Matt had said earlier - a welcome pack? Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he looks around to his pillows; just pillowcases, he thinks, then reaches backwards to lift them up, checking beneath them just to be sure. Nothing, as he suspected. Then he moves to check down either side, stretching across the expansive mattress. Still nothing. Just pillowcases. He sighs - he's actually a little disappointed - and wriggles around until his back rests against the headboard.

_It's bullshit anyway. They're all just excuses to play away from home, lazy justification for unfaithfulness. Maybe they've told themselves lies about this place so often they're actually starting to believe--_

Rob lets his head rock to one side, realising he didn't check down behind the bed, under the headboard. He twists so he can slip a hand down between it and the mattress, blindly groping until, to his surprise, his fingers brush fabric. He grasps it and pulls the object up through the gap.

It's a cream drawstring bag, about the size of a wash bag, embroidered in crimson with swirling, elegant script: _enjoy_. Sudden reluctance building in his gut, Rob hesitates, then loosens the strings and tips the contents of the bag out onto the bedspace between his legs.

Not bullshit. Definitely not bullshit. Rob's stomach drops.

Condoms. A few different kinds, about ten in total. A sample sachet of flavoured lubricant. A little tube of some different lubricant. Cleansing wipes. An egg vibrator with its own remote control and a four pack of batteries. And, finally, a glossy business card with a number to call if certain pills are required.

It's like an upmarket version of something handed out to horny freshers at their first week of university.

He rubs his hand across his bristly chin, poking through the collection with his forefinger and thinking about how he'd quite like another drink right about now.

Felipe will have gotten one of these welcome packs. So will Matt. So will Cal…

With that thought fresh and dangerous in his mind, he's suddenly off the bed and throwing on his coat, grabbing an indiscriminate handful of the bag's contents and stuffing them in his back pocket. _It's the last night. He's getting nowhere fucking near Felipe with any of this._

 

Rob's impetus is slowed somewhat when he reaches the lobby, seeing a small crowd of people by the entrance and a harried looking manager in front of the doors. Once he's a little closer, he hears the man apologising profusely in several languages.

"So sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but it is not possible for you to leave the building at this moment. The conditions outside, they are too dangerous..."

Rob looks up and finally sees for himself - there isn't a single thing visible outside. The storm that had been rumoured around the resort having hit full force in the intervening hours. Rob moves to stand right by a window, pressing his face against the glass to see fat, fluffy snowflakes filling his vision like white noise on a television screen. He can't even make out the outline of the opposing hotel block. Felipe's hotel block.

Felipe _and Cal's_ hotel block. Because, you see, it's easier for the PR folk to wrangle the talent if they're all sleeping under the same roof.

Rob has a moment of quiet desperation, thumping his fist gently against the window. He fishes in his pocket and realises that, in his haste, he's left his phone in his room. At least if he can call Felipe and keep him on the phone, he might not…

He takes the stairs three at a time, then chastises himself for not just waiting for the lift, then chastises himself _again_ for being so paranoid about the whole thing, and by the time he's got to his floor he's red faced and out of breath and--

He rounds the corner onto his corridor and - _oh, fucking fantastic_ \- there's Cal, hands in his pockets, walking towards him. They both stop in their tracks.

Rob asks the obvious whilst trying not to look too puffed out. "What're you doing here?"

"This your territory, is it?" Cal sneers, those distinctive blue eyes lit up with irritation. "Was looking for someone. Not you."

Rob gives himself away too easily. "Felipe's not here."

Cal smirks. "Nor him, but thanks. Maybe I will go find him instead, though." He swaggers towards Rob, not taking his sly gaze off the other man until he's past him and about to round the corner. Rob, utterly distrustful, keeps his eye on him too.

"You can't go out, you know." he says.

Cal instantly turns on his heel, bristling, spoiling for a fight. "Oh yeah?"

"No, I mean - the snow," Rob explains with rather more patience than one might expect. "It's a storm. We're all stuck in here."

"It's a ski resort, mate," Cal says scornfully. "I think they're alright with snow."

"No, it's--" Rob stops himself, suddenly remembering his deep dislike of the man in front of him, so maybe he should stop trying to be helpful. He shakes his head and turns away, muttering irritably. "D'you know what? Do what you fucking want."

Once he's a few steps away, he hears Cal reply. There's now a dash more devilish amusement in his tone. "I will!"


	6. Chapter 6

Rob's shoving his hotel room door shut behind him when something stops it with enough force to make it rattle and bounce back painfully into his hand. He looks over his shoulder to find that Cal has positioned himself in the doorway, foot raised as a door stop, leaning back against the frame and peering into his room.

"Sorry, mate. You sure Felipe isn't in here?"

"Would I fucking tell _you_ if he was?" Rob snaps, the mild throb of pain in his hand doing nothing for his mood.

Cal's languid gaze switches from the room to Rob himself. He looks quite entertained by it all. "This is you telling me to back off from him, is it?"

The words _back off or I'll fucking make you back off_ spring into Rob's mind, but even while immersed in this current flare of anger, he's not willing to give Cal that sort of satisfaction - or act like that much of a twat. He shakes his head irritably, roughly unzipping his coat and shrugging it off his shoulders. "Fuck off somewhere else."

Impudently, and perhaps predictably, Cal does the exact opposite, sidling into the room and clicking the door shut behind him. "You're a good boyfriend, I can see why he likes you," Cal compliments him, amusement ringing through his voice. He rests against the wall, not coming any closer - keeping a careful distance, perhaps - and casts an admiring eye over the visibly irritated Rob. His compliment takes on a different tone. "Yeah."

Rob feels an intense prickle along his spine at that look. "Fucking hell, you're not fussy, are you?"

"I like what I like," Cal responds simply, licking at his bottom lip, really looking Rob over as he does so. Like he has done with seemingly every other living human male since arriving at the resort.

Rob's expression darkens. "I'm not flattered."

"I don't give a shit."

"You know, you just flirt with everyone and everything and take whatever comes your way," Rob persists, shaking his head. "It's pathetic."

Cal laughs and doesn't give Rob the satisfaction of a reply. Rob wouldn't normally bite like this - he might simmer and glare, but he'd tend to keep his thoughts to himself - but his blood is up and there's something about Cal that irresistibly draws it out of him. He wants to bite, he wants to one-up this kid, waltzing in here and trying to take what isn't his...

"Were you a rent boy before you started on the bikes, then?" he asks, full of venom. "Is that where all this comes from?"

"How would you know, have you rented a few?"

That barely even makes sense as a comeback, but still it riles Rob. Everything's a joke to him, everything's a laugh, with that fucking grin on his face...

Cal is small, but not in the same way Felipe is; he's stocky, and there's this aura about him. Not a Napoleon complex, but there's this sense that he's bigger than he appears.

Not to mention his thighs, they're huge. They could crush walnuts.

_Stop thinking about his thighs. Stop_ looking _at his thighs._

"You know what this place is like, don't you?" Cal taunts, keeping himself entertained, not waiting for Rob to come up with another insult. "What it's for, yeah? You wouldn't come here if you didn't, surely?"

"Oh yeah, it's completely mad to go to a ski resort for a nice winter holiday," Rob says as scornfully as he can manage, but it only makes Cal laugh.

"That's like going to a dogging site to look at all the cars." Cal pauses, considering his own words, and something sparks in his eyes. He looks terribly pleased with himself. "Or is that what it is? D'you like watching?"

By now, the anger is _radiating_ from Rob. It's in his stance, it outlines him, in the tension of his shoulders and the shadows cast across his face, and Cal just pushes for more. The younger man moves away from the wall and takes a few steps closer, thumbs hooked in his pockets, watching the flex in Rob's jaw muscles as he clenches his teeth. Rob balls his hands into fists, more than ready to put him on the floor if needs be.

"You wondered what it'd be like to watch your boyfriend fuck another bloke?" Cal asks, vivid blue eyes bright with mischief. "I reckon he's a great top."

The stillness that had settled over Rob is shattered, and suddenly he's lurching forward and in Cal's personal space, glaring down at him, daring him to touch, daring him to make the first move and break the last thing holding him back, daring, _wanting_ \--

"Hey, no disrespect to you, mate," Cal chuckles, relatively unfazed but for taking one single step backwards, holding up his hands. "But if you don't wanna know what he's like, I'm more than happy to be first in the queue--"

The first thing Rob feels, beyond the seemingly inevitable, visceral snapping of his temper, is a fleeting burst of satisfaction at the momentary shock in Cal's eyes. The next thing he feels is bone impacting bone as his knuckles connect with Cal's cheek with some force, and there's a flurry of movement, of hands grabbing fistfuls of clothes as Cal stumbles backwards under the assault and drags Rob with him. They wrestle and struggle, seams straining and ripping; Rob feels one of his shirt buttons give way with a muffled _pop_ before Cal shifts his weight and cracks him in the side of the knee with his shin, hard enough to take the older man's leg out from under him and they crash to the floor.

" _You cunt,_ " Cal spits as he wrestles Rob onto his back, fire in his eyes, even while that smirk springs anew on his freshly bruised face.

Rob grits his teeth, the wind damn near knocked out of him by the impact with the floor. "Fucking _come on then_ ," he snarls up at the younger man, clutching a fistful of his shirt collar, even though he can already feel the fight spiriting out of him. He's getting too old for this kind of football hooligan, pub pisshead bullshit, and he can't remember the last time he punched someone.

But Cal makes no violent move. Rob becomes aware that Cal's hand is twisted tightly into his shirt front, the fabric pulled taut across his forearm as he presses down with his full body weight, his other hand pinning his arm to the floor, doing an alarmingly good job of keeping him still. He leans right in towards Rob, stretching down, and Rob is only distracted from the approach by one of those thick thighs moving between his legs, pressing, rubbing, and his hips twitch without his consent.

"Fucking come on then," Cal purrs, close enough for Rob to feel the breath on his lips.

Rob kicks him back and they roll around on the floor, tangled, bruising hips and knees and elbows in their efforts to overpower the other. That's how it starts, at least; but then comes the moment when Rob crushes his lips against Cal's.

It _is_ a kiss, but not one you'd welcome too often; there's teeth and the sting of pain and tang of blood, and the physical struggle of hands tearing at clothes. Rob gets a good hold of Cal's shirt and regains his footing for long enough to haul himself to his feet and drag Cal up with him. Cal is rendered totally off balance by the sudden surge upwards, eyes wide, just trying to keep himself from falling over his own feet as he's swung around in a half circle by his lapels. Rob only stops with the help of the wall, slamming Cal back against it hard enough to force air from his lungs in a pained grunt, and he doesn't get a chance to take a breath because Rob is on him, against him, kissing him fiercely once again. Rob is taller than him by a good few inches, but right now he seems even bigger, swept up in fury and a lust for dominance. And after the initial shock of the assault, Cal's hands are on his waist, fingers digging into his flesh and holding him very firmly in place.

"I fucking knew it!" Cal exclaims once he's ripped his mouth away for a moment. His triumphant grin is suddenly more ghoulish with the added smear of blood from a split lip. "I fucking knew it, I saw you watching me in the bar, don't think I didn't, mate. You were fucking _staring_."

Not offering a reply beyond a derisive growl, Rob kisses him again to shut him up, and Cal responds by squeezing his ass hard, grinding against him and laughing into his mouth. Rob's hand fumbles backwards at his back pocket, but Cal is already there, his fingers delving in, wicked grin blossoming at what he feels.

"Wasn't for you," Rob grumbles, face burning.

"Is now," Cal laughs, smugly waving the condom in Rob's face, who snatches it away; then, with a small flourish, Cal opens his palm and peers at the little sachet of lube he'd also swiped from Rob's pocket. Of course, Rob thinks, it had to be the fucking flavoured one.

"Ooh, you wanna have a nice little taste, Rob?" he taunts, wicked delight dancing in his eyes. "You wanna get that mouth around me?" He pulls Rob tight against him, stretching up to bite his earlobe. "You want that tongue in me...?"

Incensed, Rob wrenches him around by the shoulder and pins him face first against the wall; he pushes him until Cal pushes back, rubbing his ass into Rob's crotch with a wanton groan.

"I want you to _shut your fucking mouth_ \--" Rob snarls into Cal's hair. The potency of his words dissipates when he lets out a hoarse moan, undeniable arousal burning in his gut like acid. Cal is braced against him, all muscle and sinew and dark sexual attraction, taut and hot and _wanting_. Cal rolls his hips back, and though he's pinned, Rob can see the edge of the smirk on his face as he feels the growing bulge.

"Oh yeah, staring at me in that bar, you were," Cal pants, palms pressed against the wall, fingers flexing like a cat at a scratching post. "That's been your problem the whole fucking time. Why would I want Felipe when I could have you, eh?"

Rob feels curiously offended - or perhaps it's offended on Felipe's behalf - and he makes an exasperated noise, pushing himself away from Cal long enough for his feverish fingers to unbutton his jeans. "Are you this much of a cunt to everyone you fuck?" he mutters with a glare.

"Only the ones I like," Cal grins, looking down over his shoulder at Rob's underwear and the outline of his swelling cock. He makes an anticipatory noise in the back of his throat, undoing his own trousers and pushing them and his briefs down his thighs. Rob's eyes linger on Cal's exposed flesh, the curve of his ass, feeling a pang in his chest at the unfamiliarity of it just the same as that burn in his gut intensifies.

"Fucking hell, come on." Cal's words draw Rob's gaze up to a smug grin. But for all of his bravado and amusement, there's urgency in his voice. Need. "Don't just fucking stare at it."

Gritting his teeth at Cal's seemingly endless supply of rudeness, Rob pulls his erection free of his boxers, much to the younger man's obvious pleasure; Rob can see him palming his own cock as he eyes it, tongue swiping along his bloodstained bottom lip. As he decides to never, _ever_ let that mouth - those _teeth_ \- anywhere near his cock, Rob gives himself a few quick strokes and tears the crumpled condom packet open with his own teeth. He tries to stop his fingers trembling as he rolls the condom down. This is happening, and it's happening much too fast for his brain to consider it logically, and it's happening because there's a toxic, irresistible lust in him, uncoiling black and hot in the pit of his stomach. And only now is he realising that this, _this_ is what he was beginning to feel while sprawled on his bed, like an itch just beneath his skin. Now, with Cal ready before him, eager and intoxicatingly sexual, it is potent and consuming.

Rob slathers the slippery liquid of the lube sample all over his sheathed cock, blobs of it dripping onto the carpet and releasing the artificial, sickly sweet scent of strawberries. He can hear Cal's faster breathing, and glances up to see him resting his forehead against the wall, eyes dark and gleaming, looking as needful as he's ever seen him and quite apart from the mouthy antagonist Rob has come to expect; maybe later Rob will dedicate some thought to whether Cal might be feeling the same irresistible lust. Moving in close again, he slides one slick finger over Cal's hole in the most cursory of preparations and grasps his cock, rubbing the head of it up and down Cal's crack. The touch serves as nothing more than a brief warning; Rob pushes deep into him in one swift, fluid motion, forcing a noise from Cal that sounds like he's been winded.

" _This_ is me telling you to fucking back off," Rob growls, and Cal laughs breathlessly, taking Rob's hand and forcibly wrapping his fingers around his erect cock with a rough moan.

"Oh, keep telling me, mate," he groans, bucking into Rob's hand. "Keep telling me just like that…"

Rob's response is a vicious one, squeezing the head of Cal's cock until he yelps; the younger man throws his head back suddenly and cracks Rob squarely in the face, pain bursting across his lips and nose and making him see stars, the sound of the impact swiftly followed by two loud, near incomprehensible curses.

Licking at his bottom lip and tastes the tang of blood, Rob thinks about how he'd like to rub Cal's face into the floor while he fucks him - _yeah, explain_ that _carpet burn, you cunt_ \- but when Cal takes his hand away from the back of his head, Rob instead clamps his hand over Cal's mouth and pulls him back against his body. Cal's nostrils flare, eyes bright and baleful, and for a moment Rob thinks that Cal might be about to buck him off; instead Cal pushes his hips back against him again, back and forth, back and forth, fucking himself hard and deep onto Rob's cock and letting out a stifled, guttural sound that vibrates against the hand across his mouth. It's all Rob can do just to hold on.

It slithers up into Rob's brain that Cal still has power, he still controls the motion, and _no, that won't do_. He takes hold of Cal's hip with his free hand and attempts to wrest the rhythm out of his movements, to fuck harder and faster than Cal can cope with, but all it does is leave him with frustration and bruised hipbones. Undeterred, Rob lets his hand slide lower, following the sweat-damp ridge between Cal's thigh and groin to his cock, dipping underneath to close his fingers around Cal's balls and twist. Cal pushes back against him hard, letting out what might have been a bellow if Rob's other hand wasn't still clamped over his mouth, and Rob's foot slips. He's about to readjust his toehold when Cal pushes sharply away from the wall hard enough to make them both tumble to the floor. Attention deflected by the pain and subsequent numbness in his forearm after his elbow is the first thing to hit the ground, Rob only realises it's deliberate when Cal yanks him by the wrist into place, and then he's on his knees, fucking the younger man like a dog because that's what this dog wants.

"Oh yeah, oh fuck..." Cal's voice is amplified by the new position, fingers clawing at the carpet until his forearms shake and his knuckles whiten. Rob watches him arch, shoulders dipping down as his voice rises, searching for that perfect angle to his thrusts. Almost drowned out by the sound of his own harsh panting, Rob can just hear desperation beginning to crack the edges of Cal's voice. _Never sounded better_.

Just when he seems satisfied with their position, Cal straightens up, bracing himself against Rob, and the older man is in no need of any brusque guidance now, hand wrapping around Cal's heavy cock and jerking him off quickly. He clamps his free hand over that troublesome mouth again, not because of any fresh taunts or insults - Cal sounds quite incapable of any such things now - but because the urge fires through him, red hot and sharp; the escalating moans muffled against his palm, stubble pricking his skin, smeared saliva and the struggle for breath and something in him needs Cal like this more than oxygen and fuck, _oh fuck_ \--

He's burying his cries in Cal's hair, coming hard into tight, clenching heat until the body pinned against him goes rigid and he feels hot come spill across his hand.

Cal leans back against him the moment the last spasm has seized his hips, almost going limp, and Rob's thigh muscles can't take it. He leans back himself, exhausted, squirming to get his legs out from under him as he gracefully collapses. Or not so gracefully, because he bangs his head on the table leg as he goes, because he's on the floor.

And he's on the floor because he was just on his hands and knees fucking Cal.

Fuck.

Rob's breathing is harsh, loud and rasping as he rests back on his elbows; he wants to chainsmoke until it makes him feel ill. Cal is still on top of him, bloody lying on him, the weight of him keeping air from his lungs, the heavy scent of him swamping his senses. He's about to muster up the energy to turf him off when Cal moves against him, at first only shifting his position, then pushing his hips back in a way that draws tremulous groans from both of them, bodies oversensitive. He does it again, fucking himself slowly onto Rob's spent cock, laughing weakly when Rob's hands clutch at his waist.

"Stop it..." Rob pleads.

"I will when you stop holding on..."

Rob groans, fingers twitching at every fractional movement from the man on top of him, toes curling as it somehow stirs a shallow pool of fresh arousal in him. _Fuck him again_ , something sibilant and dark whispers. _Gag him, bent over the bed, get him squirming, fuck him again…_ He makes a noise somewhere between a whimper and a moan, eyes flickering shut, because his dizzied mind tells him _too much_ , but the budding arousal in him whispers _not enough_.

Finally, mercifully, before Rob starts to lose his mind, Cal stops, letting out a whimper of his own as he lifts himself up with a weak head shake. Rob's focus narrows to the ridge of his spine and the beads of sweat clinging there. He dimly thinks about leaning forward to lick them away.

Rob's ruined shirt clings to him, his skin slick with sweat and aglow with heat. The carpet is itchy against his bare skin, but he can't summon the will or the energy to pull his trousers back up. "This is what this place does, is it?" he mutters to himself, lifting a leaden hand to touch his tender nose, feeling a crust of dried blood around one nostril. "Drive you fucking mad until you do something..." he doesn't finish the sentence because he's not sure how to just yet. Crazy? Desperate? Cathartic? 

"Someone, not something," Cal pipes up cheekily. Rob sees him shrug out of the corner of his eye. "I like to have fun," he murmurs with an audible grin, sounding like he might start purring at any moment.

"That wasn't fun," Rob contests weakly, and he feels Cal's look without even having to see it. He chooses not to dignify it with any kind of response, but Cal has other ideas. The younger man crawls on top of him, all lazy heat and roguish, damaged smile, and bends to brush their bruised, split lips together in a kiss that feels like a taunt. Rob doesn't have it in him to resist.

When Cal pulls away, he licks at the dark sliver of red scoring his bottom lip, humming contentedly. He hooks a curled finger under Rob's bristly chin, tilting his head up a little to ensure blue meets blue. "Do you want a cuddle, mate?"

Rob makes a noise somewhere between a growl and a grunt, sitting up and shoving Cal off him. Cal laughs even as his backside thumps the thinly carpeted floor.


	7. Chapter 7

Felipe is pretty hungry. A little while ago, while sat in the bar chatting with Matt, he'd had word that the kart race had indeed been cancelled due to the inclement weather. Disappointing though that was, it meant the last night of Wrooom could be wholly spent having a party. And, like a good little Brazilian, he approaches the idea with gusto.

Having had many years to observe - and sometimes experience - the Wrooom ritual, he feels the change in the air more keenly than others. It's similar to the energy felt on the morning of a grand prix, a fever pitch; Felipe remembers one journalist comparing it to animals being in heat, and on nights like tonight it doesn't feel too wide of the mark. The atmosphere at the resort - perhaps without the distraction of the kart race - seems even more charged than usual, and he's very much aware that he isn't immune to its powers himself.

Felipe has donned his voluminous winter coat, a few things stashed in his pockets, braved the storm and made his way over to the other hotel block, desire in his veins and an Englishman on his mind. He's eying up the contents of the vending machine in the stairwell because the idea of having fun with food appeals, but seeing as Rob isn't answering his phone and the vending machine has a handwritten sign reading GUASTO - out of order - taped to its glass front, he figures he'll have to improvise. Maybe he'll ask if reception knows where he can get a bunch of breadsticks. And Nutella. Maybe he'll write his name on Rob's stomach and lick him clean...

He turns away from the machines and reaches for the door when it opens from the other side. Matt is there, frowning so intently at his phone that he almost walks straight into him, flinching quite comically when he looks up at the last possible second.

"Oh God, sorry! Just trying to get hold of someone, must've gotten lost in the moment." He looks down at his phone again, making a face when his call to Cal rings off without being answered. "Apparently they're too busy for me." 

"Is a busy night, no?" Felipe replies with a sympathetic smile, offering just enough implication for a fellow Wrooom veteran like Matt to understand perfectly. It doesn't appear to cheer the older man any.

"Looks like we're gonna be snowed in," Matt says with a small sigh, changing the subject. He cocks his head over his shoulder to the entrance he'd just been hovering near. "Fella from reception just roped off the front door."

Felipe looks surprised and peers past him at the growing commotion by reception. So now Rob isn't answering his phone and he can't get back to his own room for who knows how long. _Fantástico._

His focus shifts fully to Rob's mysterious unavailability and he thinks about his own words - busy night. He checks his phone, still with no missed call, no unopened message. Busy night...

The thoughts that follow set off a twinge in his chest, a sharp counterpoint to the lustful swell building in his gut. The twinge is more than jealousy, he understands that almost instantly; it's frustration that he isn't the one to claim Rob for the night. After all, he'd had _plans_.

Giving a little sigh of his own, Felipe watches the gathering of people by the front door increase. The desire, that itch just under the surface of his skin, that molten lava in his veins, has not faded. His attention drifts to the man beside him, to the way he's chewing his bottom lip as he frowns at his phone.

"You know, maybe is not so bad," he says eventually. Because, he decides as he realises he's standing close enough to Matt to feel his body heat, plans can always change. "Maybe we also can be busy."

There's a thick layer of suggestion in Felipe's voice that makes Matt look up sharply, unsure if he was hearing things. There's a little smile on Felipe's lips that Matt can only describe as _interesting_.

 

Felipe leads them up one flight of stairs to the bar. It's much smaller than the one in the other hotel block - a bar, a small stone fireplace, five tables and their surrounding chairs, a couple of three-seater rattan sofas and a spectacular view of the world outside through floor-to-ceiling windows. What it also is, on inspection of the laminated sign hooked around the door handle on a piece of string, is closed.

"Going well so far," Matt mutters wryly as Felipe peers through the door's narrow window at the darkened room within.

"No, is good," Felipe says, trying the door handle. It's unlocked. He gives a broad smile. "Is private."

Once they're inside and Felipe has wedged the door shut with one of the chairs - _because maybe somebody else will want the private, you know?_ \- their next obstacle is the bar itself, because its shutters are down.

"Could just go up to my room," Matt ventures, feeling a little frisson in his stomach at his own suggestion. _Back to mine, babe?_ "I've, uh, been at the wine in the minibar already. It's really nice but they only give you two little bottles..."

He trails off when Felipe waves his hand dismissively. "Is okay." The Brazilian then digs into the pocket of his huge winter coat and pulls out a bottle of dark rum, presenting it with a small flourish and a lift of his eyebrows.

"Crikey, what've you got in the other pocket, tequila?" Matt laughs.

Felipe grins. "Ah, maybe! In here--" he bends to pat his ankle. "I have gin!"

Matt takes the offered bottle and unscrews the lid. "You're a walking good time, you," he murmurs, taking a small swig.

Felipe laughs a wicked laugh and thanks him, quite pleased by the drawl in Matt's voice.

 

They're slouched on one of the sofas and about halfway through the bottle - passing it between them in the absence of obtainable glasses - when Felipe, tired of watching the swirling snowfall outside, gets up to inspect the fireplace. It takes the two of them to figure it out, and Matt dimly thinks there should probably be better childproofing to stop drunk people trying to start fires, but eventually they have it lit and one of the sofas manhandled in front of it. They've long since stopped checking their phones.

"You haven't asked me to repeat anything I've said," Matt says once they've settled again, already feeling a little too warm for his jumper. "So either you're being polite or you're coping with the accent better than some."

"Ah, you sound maybe a little bit like my engineer, so is okay," Felipe assures with a grin.

Matt raises an eyebrow. "He the one with the beard and the glare?"

Felipe's face lights up at the description and he sputters, doubling over and slapping his thigh with sudden laughter.

"This is Rob, yes! Normally he is for sure more nice, but uh..." he pauses, eyes going unfocussed as he thinks about another pair of blue eyes. "...is Cal, you know?"

Matt snorts. "Oh, I definitely know, believe me." He takes a slightly overenthusiastic swig of rum, wiping a minor spillage from his lips with his thumb and forefinger. His voice becomes softer and more contemplative. He didn't fail to notice that look on Felipe's face, and a little bit of him wonders if the Brazilian is already a notch on Cal's bedpost. "Sometimes wish I didn't."

Felipe looks at him and gives a slow blink. Surprise merges into the mildly drunken haze on his face. "You _know._ "

The Brazilian holds his gaze until Matt feels self-conscious. He offers the bottle back to Felipe, realising he's been picking quite aggressively at the label. "What I know is that I don't wanna talk about Cal."

Felipe studies him, eyes flitting so subtly over his body that if Matt hadn't had quite so much experience of being eyed up, he might not even notice. When their eyes meet again, there's something else in Felipe's gaze. It seems a little darker. "What do you want to do?"

The atmosphere in the room changes so smoothly and so abruptly all at once, and it's only at this moment, this precise second, that Matt realises what's happening. Whether the people at Madonna di Campiglio put something in the air conditioning, or spike the drinks, or lace the very snow covering the resort with stimulants, it's happening. He feels it deep in his gut, feels the way it has been creeping up on him ever since Felipe gave him that look down in the stairwell. An urge that shouts louder and louder, a pull that threatens to consume, fire that wants and needs and finds the burn of arousal in dark eyes and wants _more_.

Matt bites his bottom lip, a habit he can't shake. Perhaps subconsciously, Felipe mirrors the motion; except no, he doesn't, because he pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and sucks on it, innocent and filthy all at once. Matt is looking at Felipe's mouth, unconsciously staring as his teeth release his bottom lip and it floods with colour, and the subtle shine that highlights that pout. He doesn't look at other men like this, but he looks and he stares and he _wonders_ and he can't stop.

_Make a change to fuck a bloke smaller than me._

Cal's words, thick with lustful suggestion, leap into his head, loud and penetrating like Cal's right there at his shoulder. _Make a change,_ he might murmur into his ear. He bites his bottom lip again. What do you want to do, Felipe had asked.

A stillness settles over them as they regard one another, soundtracked by the occasional crackle and persistent low roar of the fire. Then Matt moves quite suddenly as if breaking from a trance, shifting his body and stretching across until he's firmly in Felipe's personal space and confronted by eyes alight with anticipation.

It's quite sweet, actually; Matt's kiss is brief, curious, one brush of his lips against Felipe's and he stays close, bumping noses, offering more but waiting for a signal. Felipe dispenses with the idea of a signal and leans in himself for a fuller, deeper kiss. Soon Felipe has him on his back, stretched out underneath him, and Matt is distractedly tucking a cushion behind his back as the uncomfortable rattan digs into the nape of his neck. It's a brief distraction, because Felipe tastes like - well, like rum, and kisses almost in slow motion, deep and indulgent, like they have hours or days or weeks for this. Matt doesn't hurry him; he cups Felipe's face, thumb stroking the smooth skin of his cheek, fingers splaying down the curve of his muscular neck, and quietly groans when Felipe's hips press into his.

The buzz of alcohol runs through him, threaded with desire, and it feels like his outline is just a little blurry. The kisses keep him focussed, the feel of Felipe's hair between his fingers, the soft moans that are bled into his mouth when his other hand coasts down the curve of Felipe's back and over the roundness of his ass. The rum might have made him fuzzy, but the need in him is sharp like teeth. When Felipe rocks slowly against him, it bites that little bit harder.

Matt slips his hand between them, wanting additional friction, thrilled by the feel of Felipe's arousal pressing denim into the back of his hand. Then Felipe's hand is there too, more deliberate in its actions, cupping Matt's bulge and massaging with careful precision until he has Matt's hips lifting up into the stimulation.

"Please," Felipe asks in a whisper, a flicker or two of feverish urgency in his eyes.

Matt nods with a slightly unsteady smile, squirming to peel off and cast aside his stifling jumper, the build of arousal already heavily present in the pit of his stomach. Felipe is in control, but it's not the same kind he's used to. "Please!"

Not needing to be asked twice, Felipe moves onto his hands and knees and tugs at Matt's arm until he moves onto his side and Felipe can slip in behind him. Nimble fingers swoop around Matt's waist to unbuckle his belt and open up his chinos, delving within and wasting no time in stroking his cock into full hardness.

"Oh God," Matt murmurs, looking down at the rhythmic motion of the hand in his underwear, the way Felipe rubs his thumb over the tip with every stroke. Felipe lies flush with him and he's so, so needfully aware of the hard press of the other man's cock against his asscheeks, the way denim rubs along his crack as Felipe rocks his hips. Matt moans with every breath, low and soft.

"Is good?" Felipe breathes, soft lilt of enquiry in his voice.

"Mmm," Matt's reply is wordless but he nods, letting his head roll back against Felipe's shoulder, eyes slipping shut at the steady, hypnotic flow of pleasure building through his bloodstream. "Bit to the left..."

"Hmm?" Felipe's dozy confusion is audible.

"Nothing, never mind," Matt replies with a soft chuckle, one that slides into a moan when he feels Felipe's mouth against the side of his neck, kissing and sucking lightly at his skin. "Actually, if you just-- like this, under…" He releases his grip on the underside of Felipe's thigh and cups the hand around his erection, fingers guiding, encouraging, until Felipe's fingers rub that spot at the base of his cock, _that_ spot that makes him gasp and stiffen. A soft whimper tickles his ear and Felipe bucks against him, keen for more.

"You gonna do something about that?" Matt's voice is low and thick with lust, pushing his ass back into Felipe's twitching hips and the insistent bulge of his erection, still bound by denim. He feels Felipe smile against his neck.

"What do you think, huh?" 

That's not enough of an answer for Matt, and need is beginning to coil tighter and tighter in his gut, so he squirms, awkwardly twisting the arm beneath him to reach back and clasp Felipe's unoccupied hand, tugging it around his side and up to his face. He takes the forefinger into his mouth, sucking on it, the middle finger going in next. He hears Felipe giggle, so he takes a little more time than he's truly like to, running his tongue over the digits, exploring lines and calluses, suckling the fingertips and swallowing them down with a lascivious moan. He doesn't see Felipe's reaction, but he hears that giggling has been replaced by panting, feels hot breath against his neck, and figures he's given those fingers enough of a soaking. The moment he lets go of the hand, it's gone, disappearing down behind him, and the sudden sensation of fingers at his hole makes him sharply draw breath.

"Sorry," Felipe says hurriedly, but he doesn't stop, nor does Matt want him to.

_Make a change._ Those words come back to him again. More than a change. It has been a _long_ time since he felt this; the swoop in his stomach at the feel of his own tightness, the slow stretch and burn, knowing it's more than just foreplay, more than just masturbation. Knowing it's going to lead to something else. His heart beats just a little bit faster.

"Oh, the--the welcome pack…I didn't bring..." Matt groans suddenly, glancing towards the bathroom door, trying to think if there was a machine in there when he took a leak earlier. He doesn't want to move, doesn't want to pull himself out of this, and he certainly doesn't want Felipe to stop doing what he's doing, but… His attention is pulled back when a gentle laugh reaches his ear. The hand slips from around his erection, and he feels Felipe shift, arching against him as he digs in his back pocket.

"You say before I am the walking good time, no?" Felipe purrs with sly amusement, dropping a condom onto the sofa cushion in front of Matt. Felipe's attention then turns to licking Matt's earlobe, and Matt can't tear the packet open fast enough.

Felipe fucks just as slowly and intensely as he kisses, shallow thrusts giving way to deeper ones, then back to shallow ones, all so slow and steady and so unlike what he's accustomed to that it's almost starting to feel like too much. Matt wants a kiss, one that's as hot and as messy he feels, but the angle is too awkward and Felipe is muffling his moans by biting down on his shoulder; the sounds pouring from Matt are louder by quite a few decibels and he's much less careful about his volume when he's drunk, a fact not helped the stimulation of Felipe's thumb rubbing the moisture of his precome in tight little circles around his cockhead. Felipe even laughs about it.

" _Fucking 'ell, you are so loud…!_ " he says in an exaggerated whisper over Matt's shoulder, breathless and bewitching. Matt feels the heat of his own blush, and he's vaguely surprised that any blood could be diverted from his dick at this point.

"I've been told that, yeah," he pants, falling out of his carefully attained rhythm with Felipe's thrusts and the motion of his hand. "I think it means - _ahhh_ \- you're doing a good job..."

Felipe replies with a sloppy kiss smeared against his jaw and more purposeful strokes of his cock; it feels like a deliberate, wicked attempt to make him moan louder, and hell, it works.

"Is also good?" Felipe asks, ragged and lustful, but Matt barely hears him. Felipe works the base of his cock, flicking his wrist with every stroke, faster than before and paying such vivid attention to _that spot_ that Matt can no longer form words or connect thoughts. The steady swell within him suddenly becomes a surge, and the moment Felipe begins to fuck him faster, he's gone. Come spurts across the sofa cushion and he's sure the whole resort can hear him, but _who cares_ because Felipe's fucking him through his orgasm and milking every last drop out of him, and when he spasms and clenches around the thick length buried inside him, he hears and feels Felipe go to pieces. It turns out that he's not so quiet himself.

The roar of the fire is augmented by the occasional whoosh of blustery wind against the window, both audible again once they've settled into something approaching stillness. Matt tingles all over, sated in that way he only ever is like this; filled and a little sore, sensitive and blissed out. The emptiness would follow, the desire to be held, cocooned, to bury himself under covers that this time aren't there. It's an ache, but one that he doesn't find unpleasant. Felipe rests his chin on Matt's shoulder and Matt thinks about snuggling back against him. Felipe doesn't seem the type to mind.

But first he wants some more rum, so he sits up and reaches for it, wincing as his muscles protest, wiping the inevitable spillage from his cheek with the back of his hand when he tries to drink it while lying down again. Felipe pushes himself up and takes the bottle when it's offered, swigging it with slightly more success than Matt, and bends to kiss him with wetted lips.

"Next year we go to find somewhere even more private," he mumbles, smiling into the kiss, sounding a little spaced out. "I want to know how loud you are, for _sure_."

Matt merely chuckles, more interested than he wants to let on. He can't help the way his body responds when Felipe's fingers trail along the inside of his thigh, though…


	8. Epilogue

It's ten thirty in the morning and Wrooom is over for another year. The snowstorm eventually passed late last night, leaving deep snowdrifts blanketing the resort. Rob is sitting alone and quite still at one of the chalet's tables, his eyes closed, trying to wish away the chatter and scrape of snow shovels going on around him. He has the unfortunate pleasure of feeling hungover without actually having drunk that much the previous night. In the same hand, he also has the unfortunate pleasure of remembering virtually everything, particularly how Cal didn't slink out of his hotel room, air thick with the stink of sex, until somewhere around four in the morning.

His knees are bruised, his knuckles are bruised, his face is sore, he thinks he's wrenched his leg muscles, he aches all over and Christ but his knees fucking _hurt_. Grimly he sips his small vat of coffee and hopes Cal feels ten times worse.

 

Matt has his head buried in the crook of his arm, empty espresso cups gathered in front of him like tiny caffeine disciples as he sits alone at of the outside benches.

_Felipe brought rum,_ he thinks, not for the first time that day. He hopes at some point it will trigger clearer memories of what happened _after_ Felipe brought rum.

Apart from the obvious, Matt remembers little of last night. In fact, it had initially been that-one-night-involving-a-certain-Kentuckian levels of blurry in his mind; all he had to go on was waking up on the sofa with Felipe sprawled over him, head resting on his chest, still sound asleep. Not long after that - once he'd squirmed quietly until the surprisingly heavy weight had woken up - he also had being sleepily kissed by Felipe to go on. Later he would remember being asked where he liked to be kissed, and a dim recollection of the sight of Felipe's tongue licking a wet line up his bare stomach...

The bench creaks far too noisily as someone settles beside him. 

"I recognise you by this," comes a familiar - if slightly croaky - voice, and Matt feels something flick against his quiff. Lifting his heavy head and looking to his side, he sees a big glass of orange juice, two tanned hands and a tired smile. He takes some comfort in the fact that Felipe does look quite the worse for wear.

"You know, I think I remember you better. Before this weekend, you know? I remember something little before, but is better now." Felipe wags his finger at Matt, a mischievous glint in his eye that makes the other man feel a touch uneasy. "It was the party. Maybe two, three years before with Nicky. For sure I remember you were there!"

_FUCK._

Matt's scalp prickles like he's just seen a ghost. Felipe leans a little closer, looking down to hook his finger in one of Matt's belt loops. His voice drops to a seductive purr. "I remember better since last night, you know?"

Lamentably, he doesn't get the chance to press Felipe on what he remembered - perhaps the Brazilian existed in a curious state of not being able to hold his drink, but still being able to recall everything - because Cal arrives. A, frankly, knackered looking Cal, who sits down rather gingerly opposite them at the bench.

Felipe glances at Matt and asks Cal the question before he gets a chance to. "You were busy last night, no?"

"Yeah, busy,” Cal replies, sounding like he'd been on a twelve hour karaoke bender. He looks at Matt as he continues. "Sorry we didn't get a chance to...catch up."

Matt would ask who he was directing that lament to, but both he and Felipe are struck by something. A frown begins to form across Felipe's brow as it registers that there's a difference in Cal's appearance. His bruises appear to have multiplied - there's now one long, puffy purple bruise extending right along his cheekbone, a faint black eye, and his bottom lip is swollen and split.

Felipe's frown deepens as Matt peers with unconcealed concern at Cal's bruises. "That looks different. Did you fall in the snow again?"

"Fucking skiing, Matt." Cal drawls, tilting his head to offer Matt a better look. His sleepy eyes flick from Matt's suspicious face to Felipe's, his smirk looks rather more grim than usual. "S'not worth it."

 

Rob emerges into the awful, awful sunlight, thinking how it's like the morning after a stag do around him; a cluster of red clad bodies milling dazedly around, noisy Italians not quite as typically noisy, even more coffee being drunk than usual. The shuttle buses will be here soon - once the last of the snowdrifts have been cleared from the surrounding roads - and they'll all be whisked away, some to Maranello, some to Bologna, most to airports and more distant climes. Rob himself is glad he's not due back at headquarters for a couple of days; spending his working hours trying to hide his face from management would be unproductive, anyway.

He spots Felipe, in conversation with Matt and - who else - Cal. As he gets closer he can hear that Felipe's making plans with Cal to go cycling during the summer break, in spite of his general aversion to cycling. Deciding it's probably better for his mental health that he doesn't listen in on the conversation, Rob does an abrupt 180; it's clearly a little too abrupt and noticeable, because he hears Felipe call him.

With reluctance, Rob turns back, offering a smile that's restrained because he doesn't want to split his lip open again. Felipe cocks his head, inviting him over, so with even greater reluctance, he takes a seat on the bench - next to Cal because there's no room on the opposite bench.

"Oh, you have…" Felipe peters out, hand suspended in midair and beginning to wilt, finger pointing towards his puffy top lip and reddened nose. Felipe stares at him, brow slowly furrowing more and more as he fully takes in Rob's appearance. He looks as though he might be about to say something, mouth hanging slightly open to _ask_ something, but either the words won't come or he can't quite get his head around the conclusion Rob can see he's coming to. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Matt's curious gaze turned towards him as well. Before any of the three can speak however, Cal chimes in, nudging Rob with his elbow.

"You look knackered, mate," he murmurs, indolent pleasure in his eyes, licking at the cut scoring his bottom lip when Rob reluctantly makes eye contact. "Heavy night?"

It's at this point that Rob, certainly not for the first time in his life, wishes he didn't blush so damn easily. He feels his skin flushes a dark pink, red hot and deeply embarrassed, right down past his collar. When his gaze turns back to Felipe, he finds the Brazilian is still frowning at him, utterly incredulous. Rob clears his throat and shakes his head in what he hopes is a _please not now, mate_ gesture. It appears to work, because although the frown remains, Felipe's mouth closes and he says nothing.

 

The first wave of shuttle buses, windows marked with Scuderia Ferrari and Ducati Corse logos, roll serenely into the car park below, their arrival signified by the outermost section of the gathered team members slowly stirring back into life. A few less worse for wear members even trot hurriedly down the steps towards their waiting transport, because everything has to be a race.

Feeling like he'd rather be anywhere other than sitting next to Cal blushing for Britain - especially when the rider surreptitiously squeezes his knee under the desk - Rob opts to go, extracting himself from this place that Felipe was so damn right about. He says his goodbyes, knowing from the look on Felipe's face that he isn't going to be let off quite so easily the next time they meet, and slinks off to join the queue for the buses. He's busy thinking about how he'd like to sleep the whole way home when Matt trots up beside him, carefully shouldering his rucksack.

"Don't worry, I'm on the press bus to Verona," he says, nodding towards the bus parked at the furthest point of the car park. He seems about to head off towards it when he hesitates, regarding Rob in a way that makes him feel self-conscious again. It's nothing compared to how he feels when Matt speaks. "Just wondering - who swung first?"

Rob feels his face grow hot again. "It...wasn't really like that," he mumbles, without thinking about the implications.

Matt's eyes narrow a little, full of suspicion, but he keeps his thoughts to himself. Rob isn't sure if he feels grateful or guilty when the other man walks away without saying another word.

The manager of the resort is personally seeing off every team member. As Rob shuffles closer, he hears him apologising for the curtailment and cancellation of activities over the weekend.

"Mr. Smedley, I am so sorry for the problems," he says, clasping Rob's hand in both of his own and shaking it warmly. "We 'ope we will see you again next year."

Rob smiles rather wryly, his lips throbbing in protest. He looks back towards the bench where Felipe and Cal still sit, chatting away, and he hears an unmistakable cackle and a croaky laugh above the indistinct murmurings of the people around him. They're making one another laugh. A lot.

His eyes linger on Cal for slightly too long.

"...Maybe."


End file.
